Buddy Thomas: Bingo brings its own brand of stress

Thursday

Oct 13, 2011 at 12:01 AM

It's been a while since I walked through the rice paddies of Vietnam sweating bullets and everything else in the atmosphere of that era. But sweating bullets seemed comfortable compared to the pressure I felt over the weekend as I prepared to enter the Nation of Numbers.

BUDDY THOMAS

It's been a while since I walked through the rice paddies of Vietnam sweating bullets and everything else in the atmosphere of that era. But sweating bullets seemed comfortable compared to the pressure I felt over the weekend as I prepared to enter the Nation of Numbers.

I don't know why I agreed to play BINGO, but after sitting through approximately 3½ hours of verbal shock and awe, I'm pretty confident it will be sometime after I enter the witness protection program before I play again.

In Vietnam you didn't know your enemy. At BINGO, once you purchase the paraphernalia and take your seat, everybody's gunning for you. And the sniping starts early.

"Shut it off," someone yelled as a cell phone rang long before the first number had been called. "You'll be wearing it (cell phone) if you tell me again," came the retort.

And this was as I was walking in!

It's not like I've never played BINGO before. But the last time I did, the numbers were on cardboard and the markers looked like individual red tiddlywinks. Now, I'm handed something called BING GLO that I'm supposed to daub on the called numbers that appear on my paper bingo "cards."

How much money you bring depends on how much you want to spend. You can go cheap and play one sheet for $3, take out a second home mortgage and buy multiple selections of everything or go anywhere in-between. One thing you should bring with you, however, is a wrench for the attitude adjustment that's coming. A BINGO dictionary is also a good idea and, above all, be sure to check your sense of humor at the door.

I guess I went basic cheap ... $16 for sheets of both regular and special games. No added frills. The sheet with the order of games was free but it also came with a headache.

I remember playing games like "straight BINGO," "four corners," "double BINGO" and "coverall" but what the free space is "windowshade," "staircase," "butterfly" and "picnic table?" Or, how about "Wildball" and "Quinella?"

The little lady with the grandmother-like smile sitting to my left obviously saw my consternation as I scrolled down the list of games on my free sheet. "Do you know what a picnic table is?" she politely asked. "When I told her I didn't even have a back yard," grandma's warm smile turned into an icy stare.

The games had just begun and I was under more pressure than a unopened can of cashews. I felt like a piece of meat in a shark tank and dinner time was fast approaching. When one of the regulars yelled "BINGO" for the second time in five games, he was told to "go home" by the lady sitting across from me while others in the triple-figure crowd reacted with a chorus of boos.

What, I thought, would be the reaction of these regulars if an irregular like me ever got to yell BINGO? Unfortunately, I would find out three or four games later in a game called "wildball."

"What's wildball?" I asked the former smiling granny who just pointed to her ear without ever changing her icy stare. She was telling me to listen to the explanation that would eventually come over the microphone. All numbers ending in an even number were to be covered before the game was officially underway. "Then what?" I asked, following the finger on her now, tightly-clenched fist to the game information on my free sheet.

"Wow," I thought. "All you need is a double BINGO to win," and five or six numbers later I had the combination.

"BINGO," I yelled proudly at the top of my lungs, visualizing the cool $50 payoff that would be forthcoming. Instead, hair permanents began to unravel and the verbal venom began to flow from all directions. "He doesn't have it," came a voice from behind. "Can't be," yelled the lady across the way. "Call the next number," was another refrain from afar. Just about then, the lady with the icy stare was flashing her warm grandmother-like smile again. "It's not a double BINGO, it's a coverall you have to have to win," she beamed.

In Vietnam, you at least had a paddy, rock or some form of jungle debris to crawl under when the heat got too intense. Here, there was no escaping the wrath of the BINGO banshees. I had commited the mortal sin of BINGO by declaring myself a winner when I wasn't. As a result I became the biggest loser in the hall.

I spent the rest of the night sweating profusely and hoping I wouldn't come close to winning again for fear of having to yell that five-letter word for a second time. I thought about asking the lady on my left about yelling BINGO for me, but decided I liked the smile better than the icy stare. I don't think I won following the intermission but even if I thought I had, I probably wouldn't have told anyone. That's the power of intimidation. All I wanted to do was slither out of the hall, make it to the parking lot, get in my car and leave the Nation of Numbers in my rear view mirror.